They stood over me, Jack, two men I did not know, Captain Ferintosh and the woman. I tried to smile to the woman, hoping for some comfort from a member of my own sex. I would have been as well to whistle for the man in the moon. I have never seen such established cruelty as there was in her face. I would guess she was in her late twenties but every year must have been hard and bitter to judge by the engraved lines around her mouth. Her eyes, narrow and vicious, bored into me with the force of a gimlet.
'What will we do with this?' She kicked me, directing the question to Captain Ferintosh.
The captain looked at me dispassionately. 'Keep her for now. She might be useful.'
'For what?' The woman snapped.
'A lever.' I did not recognise the captain's smile. 'If any of us are arrested, having a magistrate's daughter as a hostage might help. What respectable man would sentence a prisoner knowing his kith and kin would suffer?'
The woman kicked me again. She seemed to enjoy that. 'It would not affect you, Edmund. You would sell your mother for half a guinea.'
'I would sell her for half a crown,' the captain said. 'But I'm not respectable.'
I had never been in the company of such people before. Frankly, I was petrified. I know that in romantic novels, women might scream for help or break their bonds or somehow wriggle free. Well, let me tell you that there is nothing romantic about such people, screaming would not help, and Jack was an expert bond-fastener. My wrists were as well secured as a ship on a stormy night.
The woman bent closer, fixing me with a glare. 'If you give me any trouble, you…' She called me a name I had never heard used before. 'I will make sure you long for death.' Lifting her skirt to expose her thighs in a most shocking manner, she produced a long-bladed knife. 'I'll scar that pretty face of yours so that even your own mother will shudder to look at you.'
I believed her. Anybody with eyes like hers was capable of any depravity. It was not stubborn pride that prevented me from replying, but pure fear. She kicked my hip, hard.
'Leave her, Isabel,' Captain Ferintosh said. 'We have more important things to do than torment a child.'
Isabel? I would remember that name. Scared as I was, I had not given up hope. I intended to survive this ordeal. For the first time, I believe that I understood how important my father's position as a magistrate was. Oh, I know that most of his cases consisted of petty poaching, minor affray and the like, but he also protected the good people of East Lothian from the genuine rogues such as these. And most people are good; I still believe that. Few are perfect, we all have our quirks, but there is genuine kindness in most people.
I could not see any of that kindness in Isabel.
What had the captain called me? A child? For some reason that seemingly innocent word, child, destroyed my last fragment of affection for the man. He did not view me as a woman even. He had been using me.
I closed my eyes. Was there some way out of this?
I worked out that this cave must have been part of Wallace's Cave once. At some time in the past, there had been a rock fall that divided the cave into two chambers, leaving this, much larger one, isolated within the hillside. The captain and his gang, or perhaps an earlier outlaw band, had created the secret opening and now it formed an almost perfect hideaway.
Despite the murmur of conversation continuing, punctuated by vile language and raucous laughter, I was nearly sleeping as mental and emotional exhaustion overcame me.
'Speak quietly; she'll hear.'
I heard the words through the miasma of sleep.
'It's sleeping.' Every one of Isabel's words seemed as cutting as the blade of her knife.
'Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.' Captain Ferintosh said. 'If you remember your parts we'll be fine. The old woman is as dottery as a rotten cabbage. Isabel and I will do the talking. You three are our servants.'
'Why do I have to be a servant?'
I heard a sharp slap and jerked my head up. Jack was holding his face as Isabel pressed her face against his. 'You'll do as you're damned well told,' she hissed. 'You haven't the wit to pull this off.'
Jack lowered his hand, nodding. The others watched, the captain with a whimsical smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I closed my eyes again, listening.
What did they intend? Who was the dottery old woman?
'We'll arrive before dawn,' Captain Ferintosh said. 'They won't be properly awake then so we'll catch them unawares.'
'Do we have to call you My Lord?' Jack seemed to have recovered from Isabel's slap.
'Yes.' Captain Ferintosh said. 'If you call me Captain, by God you'll regret it for the rest of your life.'
'If any of you fail us,' Isabel's voice was like the kiss of the devil, 'I'll personally take care of you.'
I shivered at the menace of her words.
'What about that?' I knew Isabel was referring to me.
'Leave her here.' Captain Ferintosh said.
'I say we cut its throat.' Isabel said casually. 'I doubt it will be any good to us.'
'It's insurance,' the captain said. 'You know that I like to have an escape plan.'
Isabel approached me once more. 'Did you hear that?' I expected her vicious kick.
I nodded.
'Good. The captain wants to keep you alive. I don't care one way or the other.' She leaned close to my face again. 'I would slit your throat and sleep easy.'
I mustered up as much courage as I could, forcing myself to meet her poisonous glare. 'Murdering a helpless woman is about your level,' I tried to keep the tremor from my voice. 'You'll never achieve anything higher.'
Her slap knocked me sideways; I winced at the kicks on my legs, hips and side.
'We could take her with us,' Jack said.
'We leave it behind,' Isabel landed one last, savage, kick. 'You've got altogether too much to say for yourself, Jack Samson.'
Jack Samson. I stored that name in my mind. When I got away, if I got away, I would make sure that Father had the names of Isabel and Jack Samson. The thought of Father brought a host of new thoughts crowding into my head. Soon they would discover that I was gone. They would be worried sick about me.
It was easier to remain lying than to struggle to a sitting position. I watched as Captain Ferintosh changed into the finery I remembered so well. I had never seen a man dress before, with Isabel helping him strip to his underwear and then put on layer after layer. He wore a silk shirt with many ruffles at the sleeves, skin-tight breeches that left little to the imagination, a bright blue-and-silver waistcoat, and then a silk cravat. Isabel tied that too, taking care over the procedure. She made an excellent job of it too, I admitted grudgingly. Finally, the captain donned a royal blue overcoat with golden buttons.
'I wish we had real gold,' Isabel fingered one of the buttons.
'Pinchbeck will have to do,' Captain Ferintosh said. 'The old crow won't know the difference, or she won't care.'
Which old crow? In this agricultural area, the only elderly woman who may be interested in the difference between real gold and pinchbeck was Lady Emily. Why on earth would Captain Ferintosh wish to go to Huntlaw? Was he planning to rob the house? If so, why the fancy clothing?
With golden buckles on his shoes, gold braid on his tricorne hat and a gold-topped cane, Captain Ferintosh looked every inch the dandy. Beau Brummell would not have looked at him, of course, but for our rural corner of the world, he was a sparkling diamond among the earthy farmers.
As the captain was dressing, the other men had been busy changing as well. For a few moments, I had the less-than-pleasant experience of being in close company with three near-naked men. It was the sort of scene that Catherine Brown and I had giggled over as young teenagers. The reality was not so agreeable, or so easy on the eye. The men emerged as footmen, dressed in brown uniforms that did not alter the ugliness of their appearance one whit.
Finally, Isabel dressed. Completely unabashed by the male company, she stripped to her petticoats and pulled on a gown of dark g
reen, set with ruffles. It was plainer than I had expected, while the cumbersome string of pearls she draped around her neck was more suited for a farmer's wife than the companion of a man as splendid as the captain appeared. I frowned; the pearls probably had belonged to a farmer's wife a few days ago.
What on earth was the Captain planning?
Pulling on a green travelling cloak with a lined hood, Isabel nodded to the rest. 'Time we were away.' She gave me a parting kick. 'Check this thing's bonds are secure, Jack, and follow us.'
Jack knelt over me, tugging at the ropes that chafed my wrists and ankles. 'You'll keep,' he said, allowing his hands more leeway than I cared for as they ran up my legs. 'Don't go running off now, my pretty one. I have a better use for you than the captain has planned.'
'That'll be my Lord Captain,' I tried to kick at him for, in truth; he was only a brainless brute. He did not scare me half as much as Isabel did. My kick failed. It may be possible in romantic theory, but when one is tied, movement is not easy.
'We'll be back, my fancy,' Jack's breath was foul as he leaned over me. 'Don't go thinking of escape now. The door is bolted from the outside.' He lowered his voice. 'You're all alone, little red-haired princess.' He patted my backside, squeezed my breast painfully and left me alone with my thoughts.
Now, you may think that being tied up is nothing to worry about. Let me tell you that it is terrible torture in itself. The ropes chafe at wrists and ankles, the tightness constricts the flow of blood so the hands and feet swell and the inability to move leads to terrible cramps. I had been lying on my side for what seemed like hours, with the pressure on my right hip giving me increasing pain.
I struggled to a sitting position. The dark pressed down on me. There is no dark quite like the darkness within one's head when trapped in an unlit underground chamber in a Scottish November. Without even a peep of light and with chilling cold seeping into that part of me then pressing against the chill of the ground, I literally sobbed with discomfort and mental anguish.
'Get hold of yourself,' I said severely. 'Worse things happen at sea. What would Mother do?' The answer was simple. Mother would not be so stupid as to get herself into such a situation in the first place. 'Well,' I said. 'That was no help at all.' I wriggled to try and restore some feeling into my now-numb nether regions. It was not very ladylike perhaps, but necessary in such a situation.
Using the wall as a lever, I forced myself upright to relieve the pressure. I was nearly standing when I overbalanced and fell face forward; sprawling over the table I had forgotten was there.
'Now there's a picture I will never forget!' The voice boomed from nowhere. With my face down and other parts elevated, I was momentarily unable to move. A light shone around me as that same voice sounded again. 'Don't you worry Miss Hepburn; I'll have you out of there in a few moments.'
Chapter Twelve
'Who are you?' I asked, thinking the unknown man could hardly have caught me in a more undignified position.
'A friend. We've met before.'
I heard a terrible rumbling sound, I choked in a sudden cloud of dust, and then a pair of hands restored me to an upright position. The glow of a lantern gave welcome light, and I saw the blackened forehead and eyes of the man who had rescued me on a previous occasion. From the nose down, a kerchief covered his face as though he were Dick Turpin.
'Who are you?'
'A friend.' The man repeated. He sawed at my bonds with a knife.
I gasped as the ropes parted. The return of circulation was agonising. I writhed as the man knelt at my feet. 'Pray permit me.' He rubbed at my ankles, easing the pain, and performed the same operation to my wrists and hands.
'Thank you,' I looked around. My rescuer had burrowed in from Wallace's Cave, shoving aside one of the rocks that had fallen in the distant past. That had been the rumbling sound.
My rescuer spoke again. 'We'd better get clear of here. These rocks are creaking. They might collapse again at any time.'
I did not resist as he took hold of my wrist and guided me out of that hellish chamber, into Wallace's Cave and out into the open air. I took a deep breath of the pre-dawn crispness.
'Who are you?' I asked for the third time. With his face concealed and the kerchief muffling his voice, I did not recognise one little bit about him. 'I thought I knew all the local men; you are not one of them.'
'Come on. We'll get you home before your mother discovers you are adventuring again.' His hand was firm on my wrist.
'No.' I had made a decision in my time in the cave. 'I have had enough of deception and acting. I want things out in the open.'
My companion stopped. 'That will lead you into a great deal of trouble.'
I knew that. 'It will clear my conscience,' I said.
'That may be very commendable. It will also hurt your mother and father to know that you have been deceiving them, that you released Captain Ferintosh from prison and that you met him secretly. Do you want to hurt your parents?'
'No.' I had put myself in another dilemma.
'I did not think so. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.' My companion said.
'How much do you know?' I asked.
'Between the pair of us, we probably know quite a bit.'
'Captain Ferintosh is planning a robbery I think,' I blurted out. 'He is dressed like a gentleman and is going to the house of an old lady.'
'Do you know who?'
'Not for sure. I think it might be Lady Emily.' I hesitated a little. 'He was less than complimentary about an old lady, but I think he meant her Ladyship.'
My companion grunted. 'All right. I will call round to Cauldneb tomorrow to speak to your father, Miss Hepburn.'
I felt an immediate flutter of alarm. 'Who are you, sir?'
'You'll find out tomorrow. In the meantime, we'll get you back home.'
'That's twice you've rescued me,' I said. 'You are my white knight, my Sir Lancelot of the Lake.'
'I am neither of these things.' My knight's voice was curt and very Scottish. He did not sound like I imagined Sir Lancelot to be. 'Get home and get some sleep.'
Chapter Thirteen
As you may imagine, I was tired the next morning, or rather, later that same morning. I also had to hide the raw marks on my wrists and ankles where the bonds had chafed the skin. When I am tired, I also get grumpy, or crabbit, as we say in this part of the world, so I gruffed at Maggie, snapped at the footman and was surly with my mother, which is never the best idea.
'You look peaky,' Mother said. 'I'll get a tonic for you.'
Mother had the most basic ideas about health. She could also be obsessed with the movement of bowels, speaking of them in the most forward manner, whatever the company. Either that or she was deliberately humiliating me as punishment because I was out of temper. In my day, a tonic was the universal cure for many things, as seawater was the panacea for seamen.
'Mother!' I snapped back at her. 'Don't say such things.'
'Oh, stuff and nonsense, Mary Agnes!' Mother's look was a mixture of irritation and amusement. 'We all have bowels. There is no need to hide such things from Maggie Is there, Maggie?'
Maggie bobbed in a curtsey. She was about thirteen years old and had a whole brood of siblings, who doubtless also had bowels. 'Indeed not Mrs Hepburn. My ma says that if we look after our insides, the outsides will also be healthier. Shall I fetch the tonic, Mrs Hepburn?' I could sense the triumph in the look Maggie threw at me. After I grumphed at her, she probably wished to administer the dose herself, making it extra large so I spent the entire morning perched uncomfortably on the chamber pot.
'No, thank you, Maggie. Mary is quite capable of looking after her health.'
'Thank you, Mother.' In truth, I felt anything but healthy. My head was thick with tiredness, half my muscles were aching with the exertions of the previous night while my wrists and ankles were burning. Worst of all was my worry about this man who had promised or threatened to visit that morning. Who was he and what trouble would his reve
lations uncover? I wished, I desperately wished, that I had never ventured into this murky business with Captain Ferintosh and his merry men.
'There now Mary, take a dish of tea with your kippers,' Now that her point had been proved, Mother was quite prepared to be magnanimous. I will give her that, she never held a grudge or rubbed in her victories. She never had to, I suppose because there were so many of them. Only father ever defeated her in an argument, and then only rarely.
'I am glad to hear that you and John Aitken get along so famously.' Once again Mother proved her skill in catching me off guard. I had nearly forgotten about balding-John in all the other excitements. Have you ever noticed that about life? It jogs along with nothing much happening for months, and then, suddenly, everything happens at once. Only a few weeks back I had nothing bothering my mind, except mundane household matters, and now there was a proposed marriage to a bald old man, Captain Ferintosh and his terrifying woman Isabel, this mysterious fellow with the blackened face and even Alexander Colligere. There was too much happening.
'Well?' Mother was staring at me. I had drifted away into a dwam, as we term a daydream.
'Yes,' I said.
'Yes? Is that all you have to say for yourself?'
'Yes, we got on all right.' I was not sure what I was expected to say.
'I heard that you got on better than that.'
'Oh.' I presumed that John Aitken had reported back to Mother. Strangely, I had expected better of him than that. He did not strike me as the sort of man who would go running with tales. Still, we live and learn. I added that little tit-bit to my store of information. It was one more reason why I had no desire to marry that sometimes-pleasant old man.
We all heard the bells ringing at the same time. I looked at Mother, all disagreements forgotten.
The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4) Page 12
